


corners of my heart

by bluelions, lovebot (bluelions)



Series: magic, foxes, and lore [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Kitsune AU, M/M, Magic, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24552190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluelions/pseuds/bluelions, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluelions/pseuds/lovebot
Summary: Osamu loves Suna like steamed rice, packed and bountiful, and Suna loves Osamu like lazy rivers down in the ravine, clear and pure. Snippets of such love between foxes.For Osasuna Week 2020
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: magic, foxes, and lore [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901635
Comments: 9
Kudos: 131





	1. day one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ice pops/summer

The beating sun is tanning the pale of Osamu’s nape; he just knows it. Maybe he should have used sunblock, but it slipped his mind in the midst of his kitchen panic. The metal cooler sweats between his hands as he speedwalks up the hill. He’s running late.

Suna is sitting atop the low wall when Osamu finally arrives at the school, huffing and damp around the collar. When he looks up from a packet of papers, he gives him a once over, curls the corner of his lips, and says, “You’ve looked better.”

“And I was about to tell ya how cute y’are today,” Osamu drawls. Suna dons sleek medic robes in navy blue, smartly put together with a white coat. He’s clean and wrinkle-free, but he pulls Osamu’s sweaty body in between his legs anyway and plants a soft peck to his cheek.

“Just today?”

“Just today and the day I first met ya.”

Suna stares. “Why’s that?”

“Hadn’t opened your mouth yet,” Osamu says breezily. “How’s the magic healy stuff?”

He hums softly, smoothing his palms down Osamu’s chest. The contact sets fire to the skin beneath his shirt and he squirms. “I’m getting better at stitching,” he offers softly.

Osamu doesn’t push it, merely tucks a strand of dark hair behind his ear and nods. There’s nobody else around, having left to find lunch someplace cool or retreat back home to study, so Suna allows it. Suna probably thinks he’s too soft beneath the heavy wash of Osamu’s loving, but he’s never met anybody more deserving of it all.

“Oh, here,” Osamu remembers suddenly, “this is for you.”

“A present?”

“An experiment.” He slides the lid open on the cooler he set aside and Suna peers in. Several pink popsicles, wrapped in plastic wrap are nestled in a bed of melting ice. Osamu watches carefully as Suna’s face lights up (subtle, though, like glass sparkling or fresh mint) and he plucks one out.

“You made these?” he asks, unwrapping it with nimble fingers. Osamu nods as Suna takes a soft bite. “Mm, strawberry.”

He fiddles with the button on Suna’s coat. “Wanted to make a strawberry syrup to drizzle over ‘em, but it didn’ turn out right,” Osamu confesses. “‘m gonna try again on this next batch.”

Suna’s reaching in for another. “You mean there’s more?”

“Yep.” A thought occurs to Osamu. “You should come over.”

The gold in his eyes turn mischievous as he licks a long stripe up the length of the popsicle. “Yeah?”

Osamu squirms again, hot under the collar again, and his mouth twitches into an embarrassed little smile. “Don’t be nasty, I just need a taste-tester.”

“I’ll be taste testing alright.”

They could move into the shade, but they remain close together under summer’s gem, snacking on the sweet ice. Suna doesn’t speak much of his studies, and instead he gossips about the others in his class; there're lots of “no-good cats” and “other sly foxes” seemingly prevalent. Osamu comments here and there, but for the most part he’s content to listen to Suna’s ramblings and admire the flush in his cheeks. He doesn’t always talk much and yet it’s the perfect opportunity to blatantly stare at him.

By the time they’re ready to leave, Osamu only ends up eating four and a half of the ten popsicles he made.

Suna is slinging his bag over his shoulder when he groans, “Is stinky gonna be there?”

Osamu shrugs, washing the stickiness from his hand in the melted ice water in the cooler. “Maybe? He might still be out workin’ the register for the old grizzly down the road.”

“Ugh. He should find a steady job for once.”

“Oh? I thought ya didn’t care about ‘im,” Osamu teases.

Suna rolls his eyes and lets Osamu place his wet hand in his. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He just needs to figure it out.”

Osamu casts a sidelong glance at him, but his expression is blank. Suna comes from a long line of doctors and nurses with potent healing abilities. It’s a gift that Suna has never particularly indulged in. He squeezes his hand instead and tugs him along. “Yeah, probably.”

They trudge up the hill in silence, sweating beneath an unforgiving sun. The water sloshes in the metal cooler as it thumps against Osamu’s thigh. At the top, others trickle into the streets, emerging from the relief of tiny restaurants and homes. Osamu’s mind drifts between the sound of Suna’s rare laughter and the pink flavor left on his lips.

“Osamu,” Suna suddenly interrupts.

“Sunarin.”

“Is it just strawberry?”

Osamu hums, pictures the contents of the fruit basket at home. “Yep. Did ya want something else?”

He’s already being pulled down a side alley drawn between a barbershop and a diner towards the business district. “Mangos maybe.”

Osamu can’t help the small grin that pushes it way onto his face. “Mangos it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on twitter [@softresetter](https://twitter.com/softresetter)


	2. day two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> midnight/secrets

“You smell like mop water,” is the first thing Rintarou, the love of Osamu’s life, tells him as he’s crouching on the roof at his window. Osamu balances on the balls of feet and tries to be quiet lest the tile creaks and wakes the Suna household. There isn’t much else awake in the dead of night, just the stars, a waning moon, and perhaps an owl witness to their exchange.

“Yeah, I kinda spilled closin’ up tonight,” Osamu confesses. He was kind of hoping the greasy scent of fatty pork and the tang of soy sauce would cover it up.

“Messy,” Suna mutters affectionately. “Now move; we’re going out.”

“Wha-” Suna places a hand on his shoulder for support as he climbs out of his window. The roof groans quietly beneath their added weight and Suna signals for Osamu to jump down. Osamu obeys, nearly rolling an ankle on sleeping legs. “Ah, fuck- Sunarin?”

Suna is popping the mesh screen back in the frame before following suit. His sleeping robes are loose and thin around him, but Osamu drinks in the exposition of skin greedily. “We’re taking a walk.”

Then he’s ghosting down the dark street and leaving Osamu to catch up. It’s strange. Suna often rings up the telephone at home or stops by the restaurant to ask Osamu to come by late at night, but it typically goes as following: Osamu gets off work, he makes the fifteen minute walk to Suna’s house, he crawls into his room where they whisper and other scandalous things, and then he kisses him goodbye before the birds start snitching. Suna has never wanted to sneak out.

Osamu holds his hand despite the dirtiness as Suna leads them down the road. He figures, yeah, Suna has always been a bit of an enigma; he’s quiet yet strangely invested in other’s lives, picks bell peppers out of his stir fry, and decided to date Osamu. There’s comfort in Suna that he has found in nobody else, and he’s never doubted that Suna felt the same. But surely there are secrets lovers keep from each other. Osamu can’t be too sure. It’s always ever been Suna.

When he traces the outline of Suna’s profile in the dim light, Osamu is sure there’s something hidden beneath.

In the far distance, the Inarizaki Temple is being lit by its guardian. Red for the day and blue for night, the fox flame in the light posts are exchanged to signal the waking hours have passed. It’s soothing to watch the small pinpricks of azure circle their way to the top. Suna doesn’t watch and stares straight ahead.

“Sunarin,” Osamu says lowly, “where are we goin’?”

He shrugs. “Anywhere, I guess.”

Anywhere takes them out of the residential district and towards the border to the shopping district, marked by a large square. It’s a popular meeting spot for the youth, but it’s empty now. The statue in the center, two imposing figures said to be the founders of the city, loom above them like a giant. At the base is one lone light post that Suna takes the time to light. A blossom of carmine flame spouts from his palm, and he delicately deposits it into the stone holder. “Your fire’s beautiful, Suna,” Osamu blurts.

Suna, now lit in golden light, looks back at him and laughs quietly. “I don’t need your compliments.”

“My bad, I take it back.” Osamu rolls his eyes, cheeks feeling warm.

They take a seat on a bench and soak up the heat of Suna’s flame. Osamu tucks his head into the crook of his neck, breathes deep, and closes his eyes.

“Sorry, are you tired?” Suna asks, toying with the ends of Osamu’s hair. His feet hurt from running around the restaurant all day. He dealt with more than a few rude customers. There’s dried rice stuck in the inside of his sleeve and it’s scratching his skin with every movement. Osamu wants a bath.

“Not really,” Osamu answers. They go back to silence. He’s tempted to ask what’s on his mind, but Suna is akin to a clam and doesn’t want this precious moment to be tainted with tension. Maybe they can both keep a few secrets tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on twitter [@softresetter](https://twitter.com/softresetter)


	3. day three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> honey/autumn

The new season brings old traditions, and Osamu is diligently putting together an intricate gift for Suna in turn. In the days of old, when the city was bare bones and canvas, the old fox clans saw food provision as a way of courting. These days nobody is so primitive to hunt down a bouncy rabbit (fishing is quite popular though) for their loved one, but desserts like chocolates and baked goods have become common.

He can feel Atsumu’s eyes on him from the living room while he putters around their small kitchen. “You’re so old fashioned, Samu,” he calls. “You’re already datin’!”

“Maybe you should be the doin’ the courtin’ then,” Osamu retorts. He’s occupied with fixing up a decorative box to place his sweets in, so he misses the ugly face Atsumu sends his way. When he stares down at its plain whiteness, the bland wax paper lining the bottom, and the simple gold ribbon to tie it all up, he’s comforted by the fact that Suna doesn’t care much for favorite colors or decoration at all. If he had it his way, he’d have made an entire float for him.

He hears Atsumu scoff, and then, “What'd you even make? You’ve been up since blue.”

“None o’ your business.” Atsumu saunters up regardless, still wearing his dirty uniform (he’s been painting houses lately) and leans his unwashed face over the pan he set aside. “Don’t you dare.”

He does see Atsumu crinkle his nose. “Don’t want your stinky love snacks anyway.”

“Say that t’ Mom, this is her recipe.”

Their mother told Osamu this: “seven tarts, each for every tail on their ancestors and the devotion they’ve left in our blood; red berries, a symbol of provision throughout the seasons; honey, the balance of risk and reward in relationships”.

A quiet befell them as they gazed upon Osamu’s hard work and love. The crust had been perfected, the fruit fresh and sweet, and the honey candied into thin pieces he placed on top. Osamu had never felt a deeper connection to his heritage before.

He leaves the house after shooing Atsumu away to finish up and change into clean clothes. The sweet scent lingering in his hair might be a giveaway to his surprise, but Suna is rarely shocked by anything he does anymore. Past the river and up the hill, Osamu takes care not to jostle the tarts and sweat too much on his way to the academy.

Suna waits for him on the same low wall in the same white coat over the same blue robes, with another packet in his hand and dark circles around his eyes. He must have just finished an exam. Osamu’s pace quickens when Suna catches his eye and brightens up a little.

“Haven’t seen ya in one whole week,” Osamu complains, happy to be pulled into his arms. He leans into the warmth of Suna’s lips on his and lets the world stop for a moment.

“Yeah, well,” Suna starts, “I’m busy trying to be a doctor and all.” He cards his fingers through Osamu’s thick hair, sending a pleased thrum through his body. There’s something about Suna that definitely transcends his ancestral capacity for love, in fact, had he been nothing but a feral beast he’s sure his tender hand would have tamed him.

“And how’s that going?” Osamu hums.

Suna hesitates before answering, “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Osamu takes the moment to really look at Suna. He cups his cheek and holds him there, soft and willing. Sometimes Suna’s eyes are grey, some days they seem yellow or green, but today they’re stormy; overcast, perhaps threatening to rain.  _ Not ready yet _ , he thinks. “Don’t be a slacker,” is what he says.

He gets a small snort and the clouds lift just enough. “Sure.”

It’s a familiar motion when Osamu places the box of tarts in his lap. Suna lifts an eyebrow and sneaks a finger beneath the ribbon. “What’s this?”

“Jus’ open it.”

He tugs and the ribbon comes undone in a flourish. When the lid comes off, Suna remarks, “Oh, you are so old fashioned.”

Osamu groans. “Don’t tell me that, that’s exactly what ‘Tsumu said!”

Suna laughs a real laugh and plucks one out to marvel at in the light. The hardened honey twinkles beneath their gaze. “It’s really beautiful. Seven for the tails, fruit for the blood of survival, and honey for tenacity,” he recites.

“Huh, you really are smart,” Osamu wonders. “Mom told me that last one differently though.”

Suna pops a raspberry into his mouth. “Because we came from different clans. We were more about sticking the paw into the beehive and bearing our fangs, than making careful decisions. You know, old stuff.”

“Old stuff,” Osamu agrees.

Suna takes his first bite. Slowly, like honey dripping off his fingers, a smile spreads across his face and Osamu’s breath catches. “This is really good,” Suna croons.

As Osamu watches him eat, he’s filled with warm, saccharine satisfaction. He never really needed the season to turn or tradition to come around to bring Suna food. His baked goods, leftovers from the restaurants, new recipes; he’s always been eager for Suna’s opinion first, for Suna’s honest eyes. Maybe he’s always been old fashioned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on twitter [@softresetter](https://twitter.com/softresetter)


	4. day four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mochi/festival

Suna has no shortage of incredible traits. He’s funny, charming, and sometimes comes up with more creative insults than Osamu when it comes to Atsumu. Despite his tendency to slack off in school, he’s intelligent and works hard when it matters. So when he shows up at his door looking heaven-sent and lovely, and says, “I look ridiculous”, Osamu is disappointed to discover he’s been dating a liar this whole time.

“You’re gorgeous,” Osamu scolds. His typical attire has been exchanged for something silky and white, and it flows beautifully around Suna’s outline. There’s a peak of ankle beneath his trousers and a sliver of chest between the folds of his tunic, both pale from his days spent indoors. Around his shoulders, a heavy black shawl; it’s identical to the one Osamu wears. “Not ridiculous at all!”

Suna turns pink beneath Osamu’s appreciative gaze and hugs him to avoid any further scrutiny. He mumbles against the skin of his neck, “Let’s just stay in. I’m tired.”

He snorts and pulls away to look at Suna closely. Bright red paints down his forehead towards the center of his eyebrows, in three stripes across each cheek, and across his lids where it flicks outward at the end. The primal side of Osamu stirs, awakened by such obvious displays of tradition. Osamu is also painted in a similar fashion, but it looks more childish than enticing, if anything.

He traces the edge of red across Suna’s cheek before diving in for a searing kiss. They teeter with the force of it, nearly slipping off the doorstep altogether, but Suna is warm and solid against him. A hand around Osamu’s waist steadies them as their lips find both new and familiar ways to profess their love. Osamu doesn’t know if this is his baser instincts being stupid and utterly captivated by Suna because sometimes this is  _ exactly _ how he feels  _ all the time _ ; when he walks him home after his classes, when Suna pulls Osamu across his bed to spoon him, when Suna pretends he’s not laughing and hides his secret smile behind a thin veil of disinterest. Osamu wants to be with Suna  _ all the time _ , maybe tuck him away in their own secret burrow.

When they eventually part, lips throbbing red, they share a small fit of laughter. “And you’re sure you still want to go out?” Suna asks, pressing their foreheads together.

“M’yeah, but we’re coming back immediately after we’ve eaten everything.”

Osamu remembers to lock the door before they’re heading down the street.

It’s Jasmine Moon and the city is aglow with the week-long Festival of Wonder. At peak, the streets are flooded with couples holding hands, teenagers soaking their robes in anxiety-induced sweat, and vendors hoping to sell everything from gaudy love charms and trinkets to freshly steamed pork buns. Everyone everywhere is gossiping about so-and-so and you-know-who, hoping to win fat pots of money from their neighbors. Osamu spares a glance at Suna and just knows he’s got an ear out for it all.

They make it through three different skewer stands before they find Atsumu drumming up business for “lovey dovey mochi”. The flock of students surrounding him disperse with their plastic boxes, and Atsumu catches sight of them and immediately grimaces. “You two look abs’lutely disgustin’,” he groans.

“As if you look any better in that get-up,” Suna fires back. Atsumu is swathed in pink from head to toe. Even his facepaint is a fun shade of bubblegum.

“The fam’ly takes the whole thing real serious, okay? They’re payin’ big,” Atsumu grumbles.

Osamu snorts. “Well, it’s better than last year.”

Last year, Atsumu found a gig selling seafood bowls and had the unfortunate honor of wearing an enormous octopus headpiece. He had nearly toppled over from its weight. They all shudder in remembrance.

A lull in the crowd allows them time to chit-chat, but when it picks up again Atsumu shoves them a full box of mochi. “Take it, Happy Festival, or whatever!” he shouted, and pushed them away to make room for a wave of elderly.

“You think he poisoned it?” Suna asks, holding the box up in the light.

Osamu shrugs and hurries to find a vacant spot to eat. “Dunno, but let’s find out.”

They end up on the outskirts of a theatrical dance performance, taking a seat on wooden stumps where the audience hasn’t reached. Osamu bounces his leg as Suna pops the lid open and pinches the soft rice cake between his fingers. “Here,” Suna offers, holding it out for him.

Osamu’s face is brimming with sheer joy and he eagerly takes the first bite. It’s sticky and sweet, and the strawberry filling bursts in his mouth like summer fireworks. Maybe it’s because Suna fed him, but it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten and Osamu tells him so.

Suna rolls his eyes, wiping flour from the corner of Osamu’s mouth. “I am  _ not _ going to feed you for the rest of your life.”

The mochi slowly disappears to the beat of drums and the melodic chime of bells, and they’re left to lean against each other while the performance wraps up. Yellow and peach fill the sky with sunset. There are dozens of food stalls Osamu had planned to visit, but he has six more days to fulfill that and right now, Suna is pliant against his shoulder. He takes a peak at him and is surprised to find Suna already looking. “Home?” Osamu asks.

Suna just hums and presses their lips together, soft and melting and sweet with mochi. “Yeah, home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had the best mochi during my trip in japan!
> 
> catch me on twitter [@softresetter](https://twitter.com/softresetter)


	5. day five and six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i go searching for you, wandering through our city to find solace at your door
> 
> ‘cause when i feel like i’m lost at sea, you’re the song i sing again and again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i combo'd days five and six bc it just made sense lmao

“You are disappointing a long line of greatness, Rintarou, and they are watching.” They were harsh words only softened by the firm squeeze on the shoulder his mother gave him, before turning her back. He hates that it wasn’t quite a “yes”, but not a solid “no” either, like a lukewarm bowl of porridge that  _ could _ be thrown out, or it could be endured. Decisions for the future are just as mushy.

Suna’s toes flex against the hardwood before he’s moving for the telephone. He dials a number he’s dialed a billion times before and the wrong person picks up. “This is the Miya’s,” Atsumu answers.

“Is Osamu home?” Suna asks. He hears him snort.

“Not even a ‘hello’, how rude,” Atsumu drawls.

“Is he home or not?”

“Nah.”

“Then where  _ is _ he?”

“Mm, work probably? Dunno when he’s comin’ back.”

Suna sighs, mutters a lifeless goodbye, and hangs up. He gathers his coat and shoves his sandals on before heading out. Dusk is descending rapidly. The sky’s pinky blush is deepening into a moody shade of purple, and the breeze picks up the hem of Suna’s robes. He hurries to the restaurant Osamu works at.

It occurs to Suna, somewhere between the old tea shop and the tailor, that he doesn’t know what he wants Osamu to say. What does one say to their lover who has effectively betrayed his family? Suna has the blood of healers and physicians running through his veins, he is one leap from finishing his schooling, but every inch he has crawled so far has been full of doubt and regret. He doesn’t  _ want _ to be a doctor, ancestors be damned. Suna doesn’t know what he wants at all.

About a block away, Suna begins to imagine all of the things Osamu could possibly say: “just follow your heart”, “you’ve already worked so hard, don’t let it go to waste”, “maybe you’re waiting for that moment you’ll fall in love with it”. They all sound like rubbish and nothing like Osamu.

The restaurant is buzzing a happy glow and bustling with customers. There’s a line waiting for a table, and they glare at Suna as he tries to take a peek inside. Their eyes make his skin crawl, he doesn’t  _ want _ to be here.

A familiar waiter recognizes Suna from inside and pops outside to ask, “Oh, are you looking for Osamu?”

“Uh, yes, I am,” he answers.

“You actually just missed him; he took off about ten minutes ago.”

Suna’s shoulders sink. “Oh. Thanks, anyway.”

Wasn’t fate supposed to do its thing and have them run into each other? The sun has fully sunk beneath the horizon, but Suna is stuck clutching his coat in his arms instead of pulling it on. He could walk to Osamu’s place. The thought that Atsumu’s face would greet him at the door instead makes him queasy; maybe Osamu didn’t even go straight home, maybe he’s out running errands or doing god knows what.

Suna decides to search the city without another consideration. He weaves through every street in the business district, hoping to find him bartering for end-of-the-day goods. He makes the trip to the temple and discovers that Aran hasn’t seen Osamu either. He even finds reason to check the square; he’s not there, but the statue’s flame is lit.

Suna has exhausted his options and has found nothing but sore feet and frozen fingers. He stops for a moment and feels explicitly the rush of blood pumping through him. He feels jumpy and jittery and he knows that if he stays still any longer, his thoughts will catch up to all the running he’s done. Running away from what, though: his parents, the decision he will have to make,  _ Osamu? _

Inevitably, Suna begins the walk to the Miya household.

The Miyas’ neighborhood is predominately made of foxes like them, but the light posts are often empty, leaving the streets pitch black. He flicks flames into each barren one, leaving a wake of ruby and gold light. The last post lands just before Osamu’s house. Suna takes extra care in depositing the licks of fire from his palm. Perhaps this is what his mother felt when he told her: “what a shame for an entire road of brilliance, only for the last one to never shine”.

He knocks on their door once then twice in succession. Like magic, Osamu appears at the door. He looks surprised to see Suna and says, “What’re you doin’ here? I didn’t know you were com-”

Suna saves his breath and slams into Osamu for a hug, holding tight tight  _ tight _ . Osamu just barely gets to shut the front door before the words are pouring from Suna’s lips, backed up from hours worth of mulling them over and turning them inside out. They are battered and yellowed like a letter that has been erased and rewritten over and over because every iteration was never good enough. And at the end of it all, when Osamu pulls Suna back to look at him, Suna can’t read his expression.

Osamu, who’s akin to glass, stares hard at him. Oh,  _ this _ is why Suna turned the city over instead of coming straight here. Because at the end of the day, Suna is afraid and has no grip on the reins of his desires; to follow his destiny or to break free; to want Osamu to hold him close, or to tell him the truth.

He smiles thinly and focuses on the warmth radiating from Osamu’s palms. His coat was flung to the floor. “Now’s not the time to be admiring my beauty,” Suna jokes half-heartedly.

Osamu’s brow furrows. He had been hoping he’d take the bait and lighten up, but Suna just grits his teeth and faces the brunt of his silence. Disappointment. Disgust. Did Osamu care for tradition? Suna can’t remember. He eventually says, “I knew you’ve been troubled by somethin’ for awhile.”

Suna blinks. “What, so you’re not surprised? At all?”

He hums. “I  _ am _ , but what were you expectin’ me to feel?”

“I don’t know,” he lies with a shrug.

Osamu bends to pick up Suna’s coat and shake it off before draping it around Suna’s shoulders. “I was waitin’ for you to tell me; I kinda knew it had to do with your schooling. I guess I wasn’t super worried ‘bout it.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind Suna’s ear, brushes his cheek with his knuckle. “You don’t make half-assed decisions, and you’re not impulsive either.”

“You think I’ve already made a decision, don’t you?”

“No, I think you’re impatient to make the  _ right _ decision. For such a homebody, you’re eager to go somewhere,” Osamu says softly. “There’s no need to rush. You’ve already spent half o’ your life preparing this choice, there’s no harm in takin’ another day, or another week.”

Suna sways and leans into Osamu’s hand. His eyelids flutter, and the frenzy within him begins to slow. “At this point I’ll be stuck in the doctor’s office whether I decide I like it or not,” he mutters.

Osamu laughs. “Well, if ya decide to quit y’already know I’ll still be around.”

“Maybe I’ll be 50 by then.” Suna falls into Osamu’s arms once more, and for once, he lets himself meld into the comforting crook of his shoulder. Beneath his skin and through the flames there is no uncertainty for the way Osamu fills and grounds him. “What do you think you’ll be doing anyway?”

He snorts and buries his nose in Suna’s hair. “Who knows?” he mumbles. Red turns to blue as they gesture wildly towards their future. Suna’s mind quiets for the first time that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on twitter [@softresetter](https://twitter.com/softresetter)


	6. day seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> comfort/future

**five years later**

Suna awakens after Osamu has already washed up and dressed. The way he slinks out of bed is slow and reluctant, much like the sun struggling to find the gaps in this morning’s fog. It’s too early for either of them to give it their all.

Black shirt, silver embroidery. Black trousers, well-made. Black coat, probably Osamu’s. They slip out of their spot in the closet, above and to the left of blue robes packed away in the corner.

He finds Osamu standing in their kitchen with a steaming mug of tea cradled between his hands and a smile to greet him. “Took ya long ‘nough,” he says in lieu of a good morning.

Suna merely grunts and shuffles over to steal the cup for himself. “You never bother waking me up.”

Osamu lets him, plants a warm kiss against his cheek, and replies, “That’s ‘cause you get grumpy.”

“Damn right.” They leave the house before Suna gets any ideas about crawling back to bed. The cooler moons are upon them; it’s evident in the shiver that races up his arms, the carpet of leaves crinkling beneath their shoes, the morning dew condensed on the little Miya-Suna plaque by the gate. They forgo holding hands to shove them deep in their pockets, but press their shoulders close together and find a rhythm to walk to. Down the hill they go, watching the temple wane from blue to red, careful not to slip on wet stone.

Onigiri Miya sits between an ancient pastry shop and fresh produce, deep within the webs of the business district. Osamu unlocks and heaves the shutters up while Suna chats it up with their neighbors. They don’t talk about much - they never do - but sometimes Suna hears something interesting: the closing of the tailors two blocks over, or someone’s daughter’s nephew’s wife is now pregnant.

The rest of the next couple hours takes even less brain power so far. Suna used to think cooking rice tedious and boring, but the rice cooker and the sink has become a sort of shrine for him. He indulges in the feeling of grains of rice slipping through his fingers and lets the milky water cleanse his worries until they too are clear. Osamu has caught him more than a few times curled over the pot without ever putting it in to cook. Lately, Suna doesn’t have much to feel worried about. Maybe it’s become a bad habit.

Fill the onigiri, ume and bonito. Wrap them tight, set aside six for their breakfast. Receive the shipment of rice, sweat while dragging them in through the back.

It’s after they’ve dragged the stall out to the front and lined up the joyous balls of rice that Osamu asks, “Is this what you wanted?”

He says it like Osamu hasn’t questioned Suna’s existence, his happiness and wellbeing, and continues to sweep the ground around the stall. He says it like it’s the wrapup to their little love story, a question that wasn’t answered along the way. Osamu leaves it in the open like a side dish: consumption optional. Suna chooses to answer, “I’m comfortable.”

Osamu grunts and he can tell he isn’t happy with that answer. “That’s not an answer.”

“Sure it is, Osamu,” Suna hums. He steals the broom from his hands, forcing his eyes on him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been comfortable in my life.”

What kind of gray rings the pupils of Osamu’s eyes? Is it slate or thundercloud? Suna ponders the pointless question - and comes up with the kind of gray the shingles turn when it rains - for the time it takes Osamu to respond. “You’re prob’ly right.”

Suna snorts and slips back inside. “Of course I am.”

He wakes up at dawn and comes home past sundown. He spends nearly every waking and sleeping hour with Osamu. The healing magic beneath his skin will lie dormant until one of them inevitably cuts himself with the knife. He knows it’s nothing neat. Comfort is not the painstakingly put-together gift he’s been wanting his whole life, but it’s what he deserves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i used osasuna week to expand my writing skills in a few ways and i'm quite happy with everything that's come out of it! thank you very much for reading, i hope you've come to love osasuna a little more after this series, just as i have :)
> 
> catch me on twitter [@softresetter](https://twitter.com/softresetter)


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